You Have A Gif That You’ve Used A Few Times Of A Man In Red Putting Some Sort Of Powder On A Pregnant

Big belly birthing

You sit there, rubbing the top of my belly. I can feel your child sitting heavier and heavier into my hips every day. It turns me on to think about just how big your baby is. My hips ache but then just the thought of you rubbing the crease where my belly hits my hips gets me so hot. When you do it you always stand behind me, your face sitting above my shoulder to watch while your hands start at the crease then work their way all over my belly. I love the relief that comes when you lift the bump out of my hips, but I also love the weight when you set it back down. It can be uncomfortable at times but I love the constant physical reminder of what you've done to me. Your baby is so well cared for and growing so well. I hate that this weight also means we're almost done, but that doesn't mean we can't do it again.

I beg you to stop but you only kiss my tear stained cheeks and continue shoving our baby back up my cunt and into my uterus until the tight ring of my cervix is stretched to its limits around your thick wrist. My pussy and womb clench and flutter around your forearm with contractions as I try to push you out and birth our babies.

Without warning, you wrench your arm out of me and insert a thich hose pipe in its place, battering it back into my womb. It's starts with a trickle and soon, a jet of cold thick jelly like liquid floods into me. I shriek and flail trying to get away from it but you hold me down telling me to hold still. You tell me it's just something to help cushion our babies as a replacement for amniotic fluid. It feels heavy and uncomfortable inside me and you just tell me to suck it up.

I'm bigger than I was before my labor began but you tell me that's my imagination. You stuff my birth canal and cunt with cotton to soak up any spillage then you duct tape my pussy shut.

I'm still laboring and my contractions are coming on top of each other and it all feels like it's blending together, like it's all one big contraction. My belly is bigger, heavier, and fuller than it was and birth canal feels dry and itchy with cotton. My tits are full of milk. I am overstuffed and all I can think about is how much I want you to rub my huge belly, how I want you to squeeze and suck on my tits, how I want you to pinch, flick and torment my clit.

I just want you to keep me pregnant for a while longer. My resistance is all for show, I want it as much as you do but as long as we keep this role play up. And when I start getting too comfortable you'll reach back into my womb and yank my babies right out of me. Maybe you'll pause and make me push for a bit, maybe you'll make me give birth halfway before you push it back in a few more times or you'll make me walk around with your babies half birthed and dangling from my loose cunt between my legs while I make a show of screaming and begging. 'It's too much pressure! Push it back into my loose womb!' Or 'It's stuck in my poor pussy! Pull it out of my cunt!'

anon we should kiss

The Blessings of the Brotherhood

For request 465.13

13. an order of monks where, sometimes, they get pregnant. no one knows why. the robes hide it well enough, and they're not supposed to speak on it. when a brother gives birth, he is meant to do it alone, and leave the child at the alter when no one sees him. no one knows what happens to the infants...until one brother rebels.

As the newest monk in the order, you never have the good work, or the easy tasks. You spend most of your working hours laboring away outside in the fields, chopping firewood, or otherwise doing something back-breaking. It keeps you lean and fit, as all the young second-order monks are. You and your peers keep the abbey heated, fed, clean, and in good repair while the first order actually performs the service to your god- acquisition and safekeeping of knowledge. 

Every twelve hours, a service is held in the temple, the elder monks seat on low benches before the abbot, and the second order kneeling in rows behind them. You pray every day for your god to use you as his vessel, to make you an instrument of the faith, and to grant you the patience and wisdom to recognize his blessing when it comes. When you lift your head and survey your brothers in faith, you notice Brother Aspen is missing from his spot near the first order's benches. He'd been a little off for a few weeks now, and you ponder if he had had an injury or illness. 

Rising from the morning service, you take your usual task for the day from the elder monk who oversees the second order and go to the wood shed. Wagons of wood have been dumped to one side, and you will split and stack as much as you can for the day before evening service. It's one of the few tasks that permit you to remove your robes, leaving you in a thin linen shirt and plain trousers. 

You chop wood all morning and afternoon, pausing only for water and brief rests to catch your breath. You're unsure as to what your brothers do during their menial labors, but you recite the prayers you learned in the abbey's school down the hill, preparing to enter as a monk. It means you pray for hours and hours every day and have since your induction into the second order several months prior. You wonder if it makes you a good monk, or merely one who doesn't understand the calling of your god. 

By the evening service, you are physically exhausted, but you take your spot at the back and watch as the rest of your brothers file in, robes perfectly ordered and faces lowered. The abbot begins the first prayer, voice smooth and even and ringing in the temple chamber, echoed by the brothers. You notice the abbot's robes aren't falling quite right for once, but know better than to remark upon it at dinner. No one ever remarks upon why. 

When you recite the last prayer, entreating your god to use you as an instrument for the faith, as a vessel for his will, to bless you as he sees fit, you feel a warm sort of squeeze low in your belly. Thinking nothing of it, you rise at the end and go to the refectory for your dinner. Your days pass in a very similar fashion, right down to the warm squeeze in your pelvis at the end of every service. By the end of the week, you've begun to anticipate that squeeze. You've also noticed the abbot looking distinctly blessed, as it were. Sooner or later, he will miss a service and then all will be as it was. Indeed, he misses the evening service a week after those warm sensations began, and at the end of the final prayer, you feel a distinct pop! instead of the usual pulse. You eat dinner as usual, speaking amongst your friends, and go to bed with a final prayer before blowing out the candle. 

In the morning, when you dress, you notice your trousers are fitting rather snug. Usually comfortable and easy to move in, they're tight across the front of your hips and lower belly. There are no mirrors in the abbey, but you think maybe your middle feels a little less flat than it normally does- that, or the monks in the laundry boiled the clothes too long again. You carry on with your day, eating breakfast, attending the morning service, and then taking this week's assignment. The abbot lets his eye linger over you for a moment before sending you to the kitchens. Surprised, you report to the cook-monk and begin washing the endless supply of dishes. As you work, you recite your prayers over and over and over. When everyone departs for the evening service, your trousers are pinching terribly, and you know. 

Instead of praying for the god's blessing, you recite the prayers of thanks and gratitude. He chose you to carry his next offering, to use you as his vessel. You indeed had patience to wait to be sure, and wisdom enough to recognize the earliest signs. You've been in the abbey less than a year, and already carrying an offering inside you!

At dinner, you're quieter but immensely pleased, and eat your meal quickly to retire to your room. Shedding your robes, you notice the way your once-flat middle pushes out between your hip bones, straining the waist of your trousers. Releasing the buttons, you know immediately that you won't be able to do them back up in the morning, the bulge pushing out as the pressure is released. Stripping down to your undergarment, you smooth your hands over the firm bulge, your callouses scraping the smooth skin. Out of habit, you recite a prayer in your head, and feel a gentle pressure against your palms. Did your belly... grow?

Kneeling down beside your cot, you rest your hands on the modest bulge and bow your head. One after another, you recite every prayer that you could possibly apply to your situation. The more you mean them, the more your gut begins to strain out and away from your body. And with every bit of growth, the gratitude becomes more and more sincere. 

When the curfew bell rings, you jolt out of a sort of trace, and admire the taut globe under your hands. Deep inside you, something swishes and flutters. Your blessing! Deeply satisfied, you clamor quickly into bed, eager for the morning and yet more to offer your god. 

Dressing for the day, you can fit into only your robes, your stomach having swollen further through the night. Eating quickly, you are one of the first into the temple for the service, second only to the abbot. He watches you cross to your spot near the back, undeniably blessed, and there is surprise in his features. Kneeling down and lowering your head, you begin to pray again. During the service, you hardly notice any growth at all, but once you're back washing dishes, everything accelerates again. Twelve hours at a sink leave you with lots of time for worship, and your burgeoning belly swells outward, eventually impeding your ability to reach into the deepest sink. The flutters turned to swoops and rolls and then undeniable hands and feet under your skin and robes. Leaving the back corner of the kitchen, the cook-monk does a double-take when he sees your altered gait. You pray fervently in the service, pulling your navel another inch away from your spine, weight sinking deeply into your pelvis. Soon, so soon, you will have committed your first offering to your god!

The moment your door closes behind you, you strip naked again and stroke the prodigious belly hanging off of your frame. Kneeling beside your bed again, you get through the first line of the first prayer of gratitude when something gives way inside you, and fluid gushes from your hole to splatter on the floor. Again, you sink into the trance as you pray, meaning every word with every fibre of yourself. Your enormous belly visibly tightens in a regular pattern, the weight sinking further into your pelvis, pleasure rolling in waves through you. You stroke your erect cock with one hand as a spasm rolls through you, tipping your head back in pleasure. 

Just as the curfew bell rings, you feel the undeniable urge to bear down. Pressure and pleasure mix as you tuck your chin, pushing and praying in equal measure. Something begins to spread your hole, and you reach back to feel the muscular ring sitting open about an inch. The next spasm seizes you, and you mentally scream your prayers to your god as your body clenches down in ecstasy. Your hole softens and spreads more, leaving your hand there to feel your progress. The next spasm never relents, spreading your body as you stroke your cock with one hand and cup your blessing as it emerges from your body with the other. Stuck in the unrelenting spasm, you silently scream through a few orgasms as the blessing is pushed out into the world. 

Slumped against the edge of the bed, it takes a few minutes for you to come around enough to reach down and touch the babe between your thighs. There's no cord, no afterbirth, just aftershocks as your belly returns to its sleek, lean state right before your eyes. Scooping the babe up, you wrap him in a towel from your washstand. Absolute perfection. Your god planted a seed of his power in your body, and your devoutness brought forth the blessing in a matter of days, instead of the two or more weeks most monks take- only the abbot could do it a single week. 

Laying down on the bed with your perfect bundle, you drift off without meaning to, and wake late the following morning. No one would bother you unless you called for aid- some brothers took days to be delivered of their blessings. The child rooted at your chest, and you didn't protest when he latched onto your nipple, though you hadn't developed breasts. The babe was nourished anyway, a hot prickle announcing the let down of milk. Amazed, you fed him from the other side before drifting off again. 

You next awoke in the middle of the night, though a candle burned on your bedtable. Sitting on the foot of the bed was a glorious, naked man. Impossible to describe visually but radiating heat, and with the cleverest golden eyes. 

"You didn't bring your offering to my alter," the god said mildly, studying the way you cradled the babe against you. 

You lower your head, ashamed. "I have failed you, my lord."

The god shook his head. "I will overlook the disobedience this time, but next time, the offering must be given over to the alter, to me. Do you understand?"

You nod sadly, offering the babe to him. He takes pity on you briefly, speaking as he accepts the child. 

"This is the price the founders of this abbey agreed to pay in exchange for the ability to find and preserve the knowledge of this world," the god said, tucking the babe into the crook of his elbow. "The brothers will bear my offerings, but not raise them. Instead, these babes are raised throughout the kingdom- to return to join the order and continue to seek the knowledge of this place, and bring forth the next brothers. Only when all of history and learning is safe within these walls will the price be considered paid." 

You marvel up at your god. "But that's... we can never achieve that. Not when this kingdom, when civilization continues to expand, to make progress!"

"I know," the god said, smirking as he rose with the babe. "Enjoy your blessing."

Deep in your belly, you felt that distinct pop! again. Without hesitating, you began to recite your prayers again, a bulge pushing outward between your hipbones again. 

It's Rambles again! Bit of a long one this time, but here you go!

That first moment of movement when you’re carrying something unknown. Something unnatural. The fear of feeling the life twisting inside of you, knowing that when you reach full term you’ll be bringing it into the world.

Being held captive, having them touch and prod at your belly, run countless exams and ultrasounds just to watch it grow. Prasing you and saying how they can’t wait for you to get bigger….